


Out of Tune

by Wishme



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Guitar, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishme/pseuds/Wishme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Song is "Green Eyes" by I am An Avalanche. It seemed fitting.</p></blockquote>





	Out of Tune

On his way back to them, some point after The Fall, Cas picked up a guitar. A pretty shitty, beat up guitar, but it looked at home, slung across Cas’s back with what looked like some home-made macramé strap. It was the first thing Dean noticed when they picked him up from the gas station, once they’d finally tracked him down. That, after the too-big jeans slung low on the former-angel’s hips, dust covered and road-worn. Once they were back at the bunker, Cas set up in his very own room, with his very own (used) clothes, and his very own memory foam mattress, Cas could be found haunting the corners of the bunker, guitar in tow.

 

He picked at chords in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil for tea, syncopating the rhythm with the short hisses of steam. He raided the shelves of records for old songs to play along to, picking up the needle and dropping it at will to loop isolated phrases. On those nights Dean ensconced himself in his room with his headphones and some Zepp so the repetition wouldn’t drive him mad. Cas played in the green house, sitting on the War Room table, and the hood of the Impala (until Dean yelled at him to “get off before you scratch her paint!”). And then it stopped.

 

Dean was thankful for the silence at first. The guitar was starting to go out of tune and Cas didn’t seem interested in fixing it. But the silence between their hunts was soothing. For the first time Dean didn’t fall asleep to the sound of someone else’s breathing; could go a day without speaking a word to anyone. For a kid who grew up fighting for seat space with a constantly growing sasquatch, this was something new, something to be treasured. But the quiet got quiet. Cas still popped up to ask for lessons in shaving, about pop-culture references or the proper temperature to cook a chicken breast, but the guitar was gone and rather quickly the questions petered out, Cas leaving Dean alone most evenings. Dean went back to playing his records in the game room (no loops, all the way through) and tapping the counter when he made tea for Sam and Cas, and if he poked his head into closets (but never Cas’s room) to try to find the thing (and Cas), he’d never admit it.

 

One particularly quiet afternoon Dean washed up after lunch, Sam lodged firmly back in the library. And Cas was nowhere to be found, which just pissed him off. “Frickin angel, just flits off wherever he wants, whenever. Almost as bad as when he had wings. His turn to do the dishes anyway,” Dean groused as he dried the last dish. It’s his own fault—he’d been trying to let Cas ease into the human thing, with chores and bathing and whatever--Dean is all about personal space. But today, _right now_ , it pissed him off.  Dean tore around the bunker, startled Sam from his nap (face down on a book in…some language. Atlantean?) until he ended up on the roof. And there he was, legs dangling over the edge, the guitar in his hands. As Dean walked closer he was surprised to hear that gravel voice he knew so well raised in song,

 

“ _…I fell in love with a street sign that told me where to go_

_Oh why do I go anywhere?_

 

_Come back home_

_And bring those green eyes_

_When are you coming home?_

_Get back here_

_Cause baby these blue eyes_

_Are never as bright without you…_ ”

 

 

Cas was so wrapped up in his music, his fingers on the frets, eyes shut as if seeing each note before it left his mouth, just behind his eyelids, he didn’t even notice Dean.

Dean had a decision to make: let Cas know he’s there or sneak away and pretend this never happened. He was intruding, he knew that. In the weeks he’d been at the bunker the brothers hadn’t once heard Cas sing, hand’t once heard him play more than a few discordant chords or pluck a simple rhythm. This, though, this soft, acoustic moment was something special. Something Castiel hadn’t offered and Dean knew he wasn’t supposed to have taken.

 

“ _Yeah without me_

_You're only you_

 

_Come back home_

_And bring those green eyes_

_Oh when are you coming home?_

_Get back here_

_Cause baby these blue eyes_

_Are never as bright without you_

_When are you coming home?_

_When are you coming home?_ ”

 

Cas finshed on almost a whisper, his head bowed toward the strings, let the last notes fade away. Dean felt awful—his heart beat too quickly in his throat, his gut twisted  palms sweaty. He met Cas’s eyes as they raised, hoped to hell his friend wouldn’t get too upset. Cas blinked. And then he smiled, “Hello, Dean.”

 

The tension left Dean’s shoulders. “Hey, Cas,” he said and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, “that was really good.” He gestured towards the guitar, “You’ve gotten good with that thing.”

 

Cas’s cheeks pinked slightly, “Thank you.” He motioned to the spot next to him, “Would you like to sit?”

 

Dean hesitated and then lowered himself next to his friend. Cas shifted, Dean stiffened when their thighs touched, pressed closer together. He hoped Cas couldn’t hear the pulse hammering through his veins. They sat in silence. After a bit, Cas reached out and covered the hand Dean rested on his knee with his own, slim fingers tangling with the hunter’s blunter ones. Dean inhaled and held a breath. And then let it go. This was ok. This was good. Dean ignored the flutter in his chest. Cas just wasn’t used to affection yet and if he wanted to hold Dean’s hand, that’s fine--it probably meant nothing. Cas leaned over, knocking his shoulder into Dean’s, “That’s your song you know.”

 

“What?”

 

“That song. It’s you. What kept me going.”

 

Dean stopped breathing. “Oh, _fuck,_ Cas.”

 

Cas sat back, pulling his hand back to swing the guitar around so he could get up. His voice was soft now, unsure, “I just...thought you should know.” He swung his knee up to stand. Dean covered it with his now-free hand.

 

“Cas, wait.” He swallowed thickly ,“So, you’re home?”

 

Cas looked at him, confusion creasing his brow.

 

“You’re home. You’re staying,” Dean clarified.

 

“Oh.” Cas’s face cleared, “Yes.”

 

“Okay,” Dean exhaled,”Okay.”

 

He reached over and dragged Cas’s hand back into his lap, looping their fingers together, pressing against his side,  “Okay.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Song is "Green Eyes" by I am An Avalanche. It seemed fitting.


End file.
